Tomorrow's Yesterday
by Lykosdracos
Summary: (COMPLETE) What's Eating Gilbert Grape- philosophical one-shot written in Gilbert's POV.
1. Default Chapter

Tomorrow's Yesterday

Authors Note: I went to Circuit City yesteday and on my search for JD movies, I knew that I had to buy this one. It was filmed during a rather dark time in his life, and the emotions that he put into Gilbert were his own. Or so I read. But anyway, this is going to be one of those movies that everytime I watch, I'm going to write another fic for it. It's one of those philosophical, life-altering movies that wrench at the heart and pull at the structured ties that bind us.

Today is tomorrow's yesterday. I don't know exactly who said that, but it seems as good a thing to say as any. It's true to a fault. Tomorrow never comes, just keeps on hinting at it, but no matter how many night's I stay up to watch, it never truly reaches us.

Here in Endora, tomorrow is just another empty promise. It's the yesterday's that matter, they're what mean everything. Just to get through another today, it's always the same thing over and over again.

My father hung himself a couple years back, my mother was never the same afterwards. She hid, locked herself away, and didn't let anyone come near her room. For days she would lay there, not saying anything, hardly moving. When she finally emerged she was ravenous.

After not eating for nearly a month it was common logic that she'd be hungry. From that day on she tried to kill herself with food. The only one that could make her smile anymore was Arnie.

Her sunshine-boy.

If truth be told, he's the one that looks least like our father did. He has blonde hair and blue eyes instead of dark-red hair and brown eyes. Like me. I'm like him the most. Appearance-wise at any rate.

The last thing he said to me, I'll never forget it, the last words I heard from him were 'never let anything happen to your brother, boy. You remember that. No one hurts him. You're the oldest, you take care of them, you hear?'

Now, two years later, I look back on those memories with a kind of bittersweet happiness. I've heard tell that there's a difference between good and bad. If there is, I have yet to see it.

The only thing I know how to do is get through another day, doing what I do, and not worrying about anything other than making it to the next. It's been like that for as long as I can remember.

I think, I too, stopped living for awhile and when I finally woke up and looked around, I was so used to the routine that I didn't have the heart to stop it. I became the dependable, reliable, predictable Gilbert Grape.

Need a delivery? Call Gilbert. Something isn't right? Old Gil'll fix it.

Mrs. Carver invited me in one day for cookies and lemonade. I had just delivered the groceries to her. From that Thursday on I made a trip out there at least two times a week to bring her her bags from the market.

Every time I left I felt nauseous, as if I'd sold something of mine that I couldn't bear to part with. I went back, though, because I lacked the heart to hurt her. She told me many times that she wanted her kids to grow up and be like me.

Her kids were smart, funny, and I didn't want them to be anything like me. A hollow, empty, shell that was barely capable of emotions-- not something I wanted anyone to be. I took care of the family, I worked so late, overtime, I could barely keep my eyes open during the day.

I put in longer hours, slowly killing myself, because if I hadn't we all would have starved. The house was falling down around us. It took me and a couple of the guys to fix it up while Mama slept on the ottoman in the living room.

After the first few months things got easier. Half of the money I made went into savings, for medical, the house, anything I thought we'd need was already taken care of. I made sure that if there was an emergency, we would have the cash to go somewhere else.

It was a futile thought. To get out of Endora and see more of the world. This was land that stretched for miles and miles. I wanted to jump in my truck and drive until I reached the ocean, until there was nowhere else to explore.

That's what I thought about every day. Every damn day as I waited for Arnie to finish up with his bath. I would think about leaving everything behind and having nothing but the great open prairie as company.

I wouldn't have to hear that what I did wasn't good enough. The bottom line? We didn't have enough to scrape by on. I did the best I could, but sometimes it seemed such a hopeless endeavor. To buy bread that would last us a week? To scrimp and hope for tips just to buy a few planks of wood for our house. There was never enough and always some new catastrophe to deal with.

Sorry, It was a word that just automatically came to mind when something went wrong. I would say sorry so many times a day that my mind would go blank until I'd be able to think of some solution to the problem.

'Why? Because I'm Gilbert.'

Whenever I said those words I felt something in my stomach wrench.

'We're not going anywhere, Arnie. We're not going anywhere.'

I felt invisible hands come up to wrap themselves around my throat. I was going to live the rest of my life in this little town in the middle of nowhere. It was unfathomable, thats what it was. So I would get into my truck with the false illusion that I was actually going somewhere, knowing that I'd just turn around and go back again later.

Arnie passed on a year ago, he was twenty years old. Ten years older than any doctor expected him to live. He died how he would have wanted. Underneath the tree he always used to hide in. We found him laying there with a smile on his face, as if death was just another game to play.

I never let anyone hurt him, only I ever struck out at him in anger. I never should have hit him. He didn't know any better. There's no excuse for what I did, all I can say is that some days it would have been better if I died in his place.

All I wanted was to be a better person. Someone who could come up with the right answers to everything, someone to give Mama the perfect family that she always wanted. I attempted to be father, I tried to be a brother, but in the end the thing I was best at... was being me. I could watch out for them, make sure anyone who bothered Arnie got what they had coming, and make a living on the side.

I guess I was pretty successful, the house we live in is decent and it won't fall down around us anymore. The girls got a good education, I had my chance at it. I passed all the way through high-school and was going to go to college before dad killed himself.

Everything is different now. Quiet. Almost as if the wind was searching for something and found me. The colors are even brighter than before. It's only now that I can finally open my eyes and see things instead of just blurred figures that I tried my best to ignore.

Becky's going to come back again in a few days, this time I'm going to see if I can go with her. There's nothing that's keeping me here anymore. Both sisters are doing well, Des Moines has worked miracles for them. They can afford their own apartment and have steady jobs in a nice restaurant.

The store's mine now if I want it, I know that it'll always be here and we'll have our same familiar customers every day. I'm not needed here anymore, I don't think I could stay any longer if I had too.

This is my chance to finally do what I could only dream about. 'This place is as good as any,' or so Becky says, but how am I to know if I've never been to those places? If it really is as she says, I'll probably end up coming back here, moving into the house we had built with the savings money, and spending the rest of my life here. Stuck in one place for as long as time goes by.

Becky once asked me what I wanted, just for me. I know the answer now. What do I want? I want to sit here and watch the sun go down. The grass is warm and sweet smelling, I'll just wait until the night clouds cover the sky and wait for tomorrow to come.

Becky will be here sooner then and a whole week of tomorrow's awaits.


	2. Pensive

**Pensive**

_Authors Note: I love Gilbert Grape's character, it's just so much fun to write a character I can somewhat relate too. Not that it's nothing-ville out here, but the restlessness of just wanting to get OUT, do SOMETHING other than fester away enclosed by four walls and the beauty of the computer screen..._

_It's something I'll never understand. How can people in this small town of Endora manage to get up in the morning knowing what they're facing? I have enough difficulty opening my eyes to face another day because it's going to be the same as the previous one._

_Tourists hardly ever come here, and by the slight chance they do, once they found out that the closest thing to a motel was turned into a diner... they high-tail it out of here as soon as they can._

_I woke up in the morning, went down to the basement to bring up a case of beer for the fridge. Dad starts drinking in the morning and doesn't stop until night-fall. It was when I opened the door and saw the silhouette on the floor that I knew nothing would ever be the same again._

_I have wanted to travel for as long as I can remember. I'm the only one in the family who wants to get out of this town. The rest of them are happy here, content to stay until fate takes their gift back and we go tumbling through the mist of after-life._

_Just imagine, if you will, taking a job at a failing supermarket because it's the only one available. Stacking can after can, seeing the labels flash through your mind over and over again, but not being able to do anything about it._

_There are times when I feel as if I'm going out of my skin. If I try to drive somewhere, to have just a minute's peace from all of the constant worries... every waking moment is spent worrying, I'm berated for leaving the family alone._

_How could I do that to them, scare them like that? How, indeed. The walls of our house get smaller and smaller, sometimes I sleep out on the porch to try and get a semblance of freedom._

_No one understands how bad it is, not even the fields offer any comfort. They stay the same, grass and weed expanding across the land for miles. That's all I see when I wake up, and it's the last thing I look at before I go to sleep. Or try to sleep._

_It's always just easier if I force myself to stay awake. Go through the motions during the day, and die a little bit more each time. This is what I'm doing, wasting away into a hollow, sunken shell that used to know what hope felt like._

_Now that I look back on what I've written I feel ashamed for it. I sound resentful of everything when really I'm not. Arnie, by far, needs their attention more than I do. Now I sound bitter. On a roll, aren't I. He's my brother and I'll always watch out for him. It's what I do, what Gilbert Grape does. They need me. Ma, Arnie... especially Arnie. My two sisters, I wouldn't have laid this on them for anything in the world._

_I made my decision and went on from there, no room for regrets, and no looking back on what could have been. There are many things a person can do, but turning their back on family isn't one of them._

_Now I close the notebook and get ready to go and deliver a truck full of groceries to Mrs. Carver. Too much wallowing in self-pity, I don't have time for it. I have to make sure Arnie stays safely at home, Mama won't worry so much then and maybe I can go for another drive tonight._

This is the first time I've looked back at this notebook in years.

At least four, Mama's dead, she died in the house as she always wanted too, and Arnie soon after. Ellen and Amy are attending school, finally, and I'm traveling with Becky. I didn't feel any need to go to a university, I've learned everything I'm willing to learn from experience.

There must be something wrong with me, I knew that soon as I looked back over what's been written. A black and white marble composition book I purchased from the store I used to work in.

I've been all around the United States, I've seen towering red-woods, national parks, and buildings so tall they stretch the imagination. From the tops of bridges, in the middle of the desert, and on the snow-covered banks of the East, there's always something inside me that whispers softly.

Something's missing, but then again something's always not... been there. Becky says it's because I missed out on a child-hood and I'm trying to get it back. She has so many questions, about the way I grew up, what it was like taking care of the family... I ask her just as many. I don't like talking about myself, and she's not shy in the retelling.

It's one of the things I love about her, the ability to change subjects in the middle of a sentence. One minute she can be talking about being chased by bees, and the next she's asking me what flavor ice-cream I want to buy next.

When I'm with her this empty- I've just realized it, empty. That's the word, as in not filled, lacking something vital. --but as I was saying, when I'm with her the emptiness fades away. When I stand by myself sometimes and stare at a sunset or sunrise it's back again. When I lay on the mattress at night, or write, like I'm doing now, it's all back again.

There has to be something wrong with me, this is what I've always wanted. To travel, never have to stay in the same place and worry about things like tax and income. All I have to contribute toward is gas money, and that's not a problem.

We might keep moving, but when we do stay in places to look around awhile, I always manage to find job. Someone can always use a bagboy or a deliveryman. It doesn't bother me because I don't have to stay long enough to fall back into the monotony.

Arnie and Ma's death don't bother me as much as they should, they're happy now, you know? Why would I be sad that they're happy? I am too, for that matter, but I suppose that somewhere I'll always be worried that something will go wrong and I'll be resigned to life as it used to be.

Maybe I should have Becky, what did she call it, psycho-analyze, that's it, me again. Afterwards we'll go swimming, or walking, neither of us pressuring the other.

'So sad, Gil,' she says pushing my hair out of my face, it's what she does, to see my eyes is her explanation, 'you always look so sad.'

I don't know, I'm not sad... just... wary of both the good and bad things in life. If I get too comfortable something might happen, Becky says that parts the martyr complex, whatever that means. If I get too happy I get scared that something bad will happen, is how she clarifies it.

Maybe, but I'm content and we haven't even seen half of the states. There are roads our tires have yet to travel on, and what am I doing? Taking a trip back to memories I let go of long ago.

I'll take this notebook and put it back in the drawer where I keep other things from the house. I don't think I'll need to write again, but if I do it'll be there. I can't throw it out like so many others would force themselves too. It's a part of me, a part that died a long time ago, but all the same.

You can lie to people, but you can never lie to yourself. Gilbert never died, he was here the whole time, there were just things to keep me from seeing that. So I'll put the pen down, go outside and watch the sunset.

Funny how small things like that stay the same without anyone noticing.


End file.
